Morning Mist – Outskirts of Cael Morhan
The others are still slowly waking, yawning, stretching, gathering around the soft embers of the fire. Dante throws a pebble at Logan for snoring. Faith tying up her hair. Vance complains about the cold.
But Elias walks past them all, eyes distant, steps quiet, heading toward the edge of the camp where Dorian stands, already awake, writing something in his old tome, his fingers faintly glowing with magic.
Elias (quietly): "Dorian... we need to talk."
Dorian looks up immediately, sensing the weight in Elias' voice.
Dorian: "Of course. Walk with me."
They step away from the camp, just into the tree line, where fog clings to roots and the morning birds can't mask the silence that hangs between them.
Elias (hesitating, then with quiet dread): "Nyxoth spoke to me... last night."
Dorian (stopping instantly): "...What did it say?"
Elias: "That I'm the door. That I'll free him. That the second echo... connects me to him. That the more I absorb, the closer I get to becoming his vessel."
Dorian's jaw tightens. His hands curl slightly into fists.
Elias: "I felt it. The shadows. They... weren't just in my dream. They were inside me. I felt it in my breath when I woke up. In my chest. Like I'm not... me."
Dorian (after a long silence): "You are still you. But Nyxoth... is not wrong."
Elias' eyes widen.
Dorian (softly): "The echoes were never meant to be consumed by one person. Especially not more than one. The first awakens your dormant connection to ancient magic. The second... begins to blur the line between wielder and conduit."
Dorian turns toward Elias, voice firm, eyes fierce.
Dorian: "But that doesn't mean you're lost. Nyxoth feeds on fear and self-doubt. He's not in control—not unless you give it to him. The battle is yours, Elias. And you're not alone in it."
Elias (quietly): "But what if I slip? What if he gets in through some crack in me I don't even see? I don't want to hurt you. Or them."
Dorian places a hand on his shoulder—calm, grounding.
Dorian: "If you ever feel yourself slipping, you come to me. No secrets. Not anymore. I will never let you walk that path alone. Neither will Dante. Or Faith. You've already proven you can fight this darkness."
Elias (still uneasy, but grateful): "...Thank you."
Dorian (quietly, almost smiling): "Next time he talks to you... remind him something: you're not a door. You're a damn wall."
Elias exhales, a small, tired chuckle escaping his lips. The weight doesn't disappear—but it feels a little less heavy.
Elias (after a moment of silence, eyes fixed on the fog): "Then why isn't Maldrath affected? He's consumed more echoes than anyone. Why isn't he being corrupted?"
Dorian (his tone darkens, voice quiet but firm): "Because Maldrath is the corruption."
Elias turns to look at him, startled.
Dorian: "The echoes are designed to test the soul. They whisper, claw, and twist until something breaks. You... still resist. You still care. That's why you feel the weight of it."
He steps closer, his voice now heavy with conviction.
Dorian: "Maldrath? There's nothing left inside him to twist. He was already broken long before he found the echoes. His soul was a cracked mirror—full of hate, cruelty, obsession. The echoes didn't corrupt him, Elias..."
Dorian (coldly): "...They fit him."
Elias swallows hard, a chill racing down his spine.
Dorian (warning): "And that's what makes him so dangerous. While you wrestle with the voices, he commands them. He's not being devoured by the darkness—he's wearing it."
Elias (quietly): "So if I keep going... if I absorb more..."
Dorian: "You walk the same road. And with your strength, your heart... if you fall—if you truly give in—it won't just be another Maldrath."
He looks Elias straight in the eye, his voice grave.
Dorian: "It will be worse. Because unlike him, you have love. You have hope. You have people willing to die for you. If Nyxoth gets control of you... he gets access to all of it. Every bond, every soul you touch... becomes a doorway for him."
Elias' breath catches. He feels the ache in his chest. The echo still slumbers inside him—but it's pulsing. Listening.
Elias (barely a whisper): "...Then I won't fall. I can't."
Dorian (nodding): "And we'll make sure you don't. But Elias—promise me something."
Elias (looking up): "What?"
Dorian: "If the time ever comes where you feel like you're slipping too far... you tell me. Don't fight it alone."
Elias: "I promise."
They stand in silence a few moments longer, the air heavy, the truth heavier.
As the early morning light bathed the ruins of Cael Morhan in a cold glow, the group stood gathered—tired, scarred, but still standing.
Dorian adjusted his cloak, his eyes scanning over each of them with quiet determination.
Dorian: "Let's move. We've had enough rest... it's time."
Without another word, they began their journey back toward the Arcane Council, the weight of what had happened—and what was yet to come—settling silently over them.
Forest Path, Early Morning
The sun peeks through the thick canopy, casting dancing shadows across the path. The group walks in calm silence—birds chirping faintly in the distance. As they pass a moss-covered stone, Alice slows her pace. Something catches her eye.
Nestled near the base of a tree is a pair of delicate, sky-lilac flowers—softly glowing under the morning dew.
Alice (softly, to herself): "Starveil blooms..."
She kneels and gently plucks one, brushing her fingers over its fragile petals. Her expression shifts—stoic walls falter as her eyes glisten.
Dante (noticing): "Hey... you okay?"
Alice doesn't reply at first. The wind rustles the trees.
Alice (after a pause): "These were my sister's favorite flowers."
Dante (curious): "You had a sister?"
Alice closes her eyes, holding the flower close to her chest.
10 Years Ago
Rain pattered softlyon the roof of a modest house surrounded by trees and fog. Inside,a small fireplace cracked gently, casting a faint glow on the wooden floor.
Alice, around 10 , sat on the living room floor, hunched over a book with a pencil tucked behind her ear, trying to sketch something—maybe a sigil, maybe just a random swirl. Her brows furrowed in frustration.
From across the room, asmaller girl with bright eyes and tangled hair,Lyra, mimicked Alice's posture with a piece of crayon and scrap paper.
Alice noticed and sighed. "Lyra, don't copy me."
"I'm not copying," Lyra lied, grinning. "I'm… practicing."
Alice groaned, "You don't even know what I'm drawing."
Lyra held up her paper proudly—it was a child's version of the same symbol, wonky and colorful.
Theirmother, standing by the kitchen, chuckled. "She just wants to be like you, Alice."
Alice mumbled under her breath, "She shouldn't…"
Their father entered from outside, drenched from the rain. "Storm's gonna get worse tonight. Might flood the creek again." He ruffled both their heads as he passed, making Lyra giggle and Alice scowl lightly.
Just then, aflash of thunder cracked, making Lyra flinch. She ran over and sat beside Alice without saying anything.
Alice glanced at her and—without a word—slid half of her blanket over to cover Lyra, eyes still on her book.
It was quiet for a moment.
Then Lyra whispered, "When I grow up, I'll do everything with you. Always."
Alice didn't look at her, but a faint smile crept onto her lips. "You're annoying."
But she let her stay close.
Backyard, Afternoon
The sun casts a golden hue over the garden. Birds flutter overhead as the sisters run barefoot across the grass.
Alice, 13 still without an awakening, laughs as she chases Lyra, who darts around with a wooden stick pretending it's a wand.
Lyra (giggling): "Behold! I'm the great sorceress Lyra! Bow before me, peasant!"
> Alice (laughing): "Peasant?! You little brat—"
Alice lunges, and Lyra shrieks with joy, dodging her clumsily. They tumble into the grass, breathless with laughter.
Lyra (smiling up at the sky): "When you get your magic... we'll protect the village together, right?"
Alice: "Of course. We'll be a team."
Lyra turns to her with the most innocent smile.
Lyra: "Even if I don't awaken, I'll still fight like you. I'll learn everything you do."
Alice reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from Lyra's face.
Alice (softly): "You don't have to be like me. Just be you."
Lyra pouts, shaking her head.
Lyra: "But I want to! You're my hero."
A gentle breeze passes. The Starveil blooms rustle nearby.
"She always tried to follow me... even when she shouldn't have."
Morning – Alice's Bedroom
The soft glow of morning sunlight filters through white curtains. Alice stirs in bed, her long hair messy from sleep. She yawns and slowly opens her eyes.
Through the window, she sees Lyra, outside in the garden, laughing, barefoot, with a crown of Starveil flowers on her head. She twirls clumsily, arms stretched out like wings.
Alice smiles softly, resting her chin on her arms as she gazes out.
Alice (whispers to herself): "If I don't awaken... then maybe you will. You're kinder. Brighter. I'm sure the gods would love a child like you."
Just then, a voice interrupts gently.
Father (from behind the door): "Come on, Alice. Breakfast's ready."
Alice (smiling): "Coming!"
She hops out of bed, throws on a shawl, and rushes downstairs.
IN Kitchen – Warm Morning Light
The kitchen is filled with the smell of fresh bread and spiced vegetables. Mother hums as she sets the table—Alice's favorite: spiced rice cakes and berry syrup.
Alice (delighted): "You made these?"
Mother (smiling): "Well, someone was tossing in her sleep last night. I thought this would cheer you up."
Just then, Lyra bursts in from outside, cheeks flushed with energy, her flower crown slightly crooked.
Lyra: "You're up! Finally! I waited forever. I'm eating with you!"
She squeezes in beside Alice, grabbing a rice cake with tiny fingers.
Alice (grinning): "You little thief!"
One Week Later – Afternoon
The warm sun filters through the trees outside. Birds chirp faintly.
Inside the house, Alice stands by the window, brushing Lyra's hair while she hums. Everything feels normal… until suddenly—
Alice's breath shortens. She drops the brush.
Alice (gasping): "My chest… it's tight…"
She stumbles, falling to her knees. Lyra panics.
Lyra: "Alice?! Mom! Dad!"
Alice's Bedroom – Later
Alice lies in bed, sweating but conscious. Her hands twitch slightly. Around her, the air shimmers faintly. A vase on the table trembles… then steadies.
Alice (softly, to herself): "What... is this feeling?"
She closes her eyes and feels it—the warmth in her chest, the rhythm of energy moving through her veins, the world around her reacting, as if listening.
Alice (realizing): "I… awakened."
---
Local Testing Hall – Next Day
A quiet stone hall where local magic users confirm awakenings. A single orb glows in the center of the room.
Alice steps forward. The orb flickers... then pulses bright.
Instructor (amazed): "No doubt. She's awakened. Strong affinity too."
Father (in disbelief): "But… we're not magic users."
Mother (with tears): "Our little girl… the first in our bloodline."
---
Home – Evening Celebration
The small house is decorated with lanterns and laughter. Lyra dances around with her flower crown.
Lyra (grinning): "I told you! You're special!"
Alice (laughing): "I still think you'll awaken next."
Her parents watch, smiling, proud—never imagining the path this power will take her on.
---
The next few days: Alice waking up early, practicing focus, struggling to control her energy, setting small things on fire or freezing cups by mistake. She laughs, cries, and learns.
Her magic grows. So does her bond with Lyra, who always watches with awe.
Lyra: "One day… I'll be just like you."
Alice always answers with a smile.
Alice: "You'll be better."
A Few Months Later – Alice's Backyard
It's early morning. Alice is panting, hands trembling, sweat running down her face as she finishes a difficult spell. A chunk of stone floats in the air, surrounded by flickering light. The moment it settles—
Instructor (firmly): "Again."
Alice (strained): "I've already done it ten times..."
Instructor: "Then you'll do it eleven."
She sighs and nods. From behind the training fence, Lyra peeks in quietly—holding a tray with water and a tiny flower band she made.
Lyra (gently):"Alice? You want to rest a bit? I brought you something—"
Alice (irritated, without turning): "Not now, Lyra."
Lyra (softly): "But… it's your favorite—"
Alice (turning sharply): "I SAID not now!"
A silence hangs in the air. Lyra steps back, visibly hurt, the tray shaking slightly in her hands.
Alice (immediately regretful): "Wait, I didn't mean—"
But Lyra has already walked away.
---
Later That Night – Bedroom
Alice sits on her bed, staring at the flower band Lyra left behind on her pillow. Her side of the room is scattered with books and scrolls. Lyra's bed is untouched.
Alice (to herself, whispering): "I didn't mean to shout…"
Outside the window, the same flowers from earlier sway gently in the wind—quiet witnesses to a growing distance between two once inseparable sisters.
Afternoon – Near the Forest Edge
The sun peeks through scattered clouds as Lyra walks along the edge of the woods, humming softly. She spots a colorful bird perched on a high tree branch and climbs up curiously—barefoot, with a little band of flowers tied to her wrist.
Alice, coming back from her training, sees her.
Alice (shouting): "Lyra! Get down from there—it's not safe!"
Lyra (grinning): "Just one second! I want to see the nest!"
Suddenly, the branch cracks.
Alice (terrified): "LYRA!"
In a blink, Alice sprints forward and stretches her hand. Her instincts flare—magic rushes to her fingertips. A force cushions Lyra mid-fall just before she hits the ground. She lands roughly but safely in Alice's arms, winded but not hurt.
They both collapse into the grass, breathing heavily.
Lyra (giggling, a little shaken): "You… you protected me."
Alice, still holding her tightly, nods, her eyes wet.
Alice (softly): "I will always protect you, Lyra. Always."
Lyra (smiling, resting her head on Alice's shoulder): "Then I'll protect you too. One day, I'll be strong like you."
They sit together quietly, the wind rustling the leaves above, the flower band slipping gently from Lyra's wrist onto Alice's lap.
One Year Later – A Patrol Outside Town
Alice, now 14, is assigned a minor patrol task near a border village. A known rogue spellcaster has been seen harassing locals.
She approaches a ruined shed where the man is looting from a broken cart.
Alice (firm): "Step away. Now."
Rogue (sneering): "You're just a kid."
Alice raises her hand—magic glows around her fingers.
A short duel follows. She disarms him with finesse and knocks him to the ground. She stands over him, breathing heavily, but hesitates.
Alice: "I'm not killing you. Leave—while you still can."
Rogue (chuckling darkly): "You'll regret mercy one day, girl. That's a promise."
He limps off, leaving Alice staring after him—unsure if she made the right call.
---
Same Night – Path Behind the House
Alice walks alone near their home's back path, mind spinning. She hears footsteps—turns—too late.
A hooded figure lunges from the trees. A spell flares.
BOOM.
Alice crashes to the ground—dazed. Her ears ring. She tries to rise, but the attacker steps on her wrist and raises a dagger, eyes wild with vengeance.
Attacker (snarling): "Told you you'd regret it."
But just as the blade swings—
CRACK.
The attacker stumbles—hit in the head with a rock.
It's Lyra, panting, clutching another rock, eyes wide with fear but burning with love.
Lyra: "Get away from my sister!"
The man roars and lashes out instinctively—a burst of stray magic strikes Lyra directly in the chest, hurling her back with a sickening thud.
Alice (screaming): "LYRA!"
Alice's power explodes—roots and light engulf the attacker, slamming him into the trees until he lies motionless.
She runs to Lyra—blood on her lips, her flower band still around her wrist.
Lyra (weakly smiling): "See… I protected you… like I promised…"
Alice (tears falling): "No—no, stay with me. Lyra, please—"
Lyra (voice trembling): "Don't… cry, okay? I got to be like you… even just once…"
Her eyes close.
Alice holds her sister, screaming her name as the flower band slips from Lyra's wrist again and falls to the grass.
---
Later – The House
The surroundings are silent.
Alice walks into the house, alone.
Her mother is in the kitchen. Her father is at the table. When they look up and see Alice—covered in ash, blood, clutching the broken flower band—
They freeze.
Alice (barely whispering): "She's gone."
Her mother drops the plate in her hands. Her father stands, but words don't come. They all collapse into each other—shattered.
Funeral – The Field
The skies are grey.
Wind moves softly through the tall grass, brushing against a white casket resting on a simple wooden stand, surrounded by wildflowers—the same kind Lyra loved.
A few neighbors gather quietly.
Alice stands beside her parents. Her eyes are hollow. Her hands clench the faded flower band.
Everyone is still. The priest begins the prayer, but Alice doesn't hear it. Her world is muffled, like submerged in water.
She stares at the casket. Then she takes a small step forward. Her voice cracks:
Alice: "She wasn't supposed to be there…"
Her father reaches for her shoulder, but she moves away.
Alice (whispers): "It should've been me."
She walks closer—gazes at the casket, almost afraid to touch it.
Alice: "I was the one with magic… I was the one who trained… She was just a child. She followed me everywhere. She just wanted to be like me…"
She kneels before the casket, fingers trembling.
Alice (tears falling): "And I pushed her away."
Her mother starts to cry silently behind her.
Alice: "I yelled at her. I told her to leave me alone. I said I didn't have time anymore. And still… she came for me. She saved me…"
Her voice breaks entirely. She hugs the casket, forehead against the wood.
Alice: "You said you'd protect me… but I was supposed to protect you."
She places the flower band gently on top of the casket.
Alice (barely audible): "I'm so sorry, Lyra… I don't deserve to wear it."
---
Burial – Minutes Later
As the coffin is lowered, her mother sobs uncontrollably, held by her father. Alice doesn't move. Her eyes are dry now. Too much pain for more tears.
When the first shovel of dirt hits the casket, she flinches—but doesn't look away.
Alice (in her thoughts): "Magic gave me strength. But it also took her from me. Maybe it wasn't a gift. Maybe it was a curse."
For weeks, the house lost its color.
Alice stopped waking up early. She stopped talking. Meals grew cold untouched, and the once-lively sound of Lyra's footsteps no longer echoed through the narrow halls.
At night, Alice would sit by the window where Lyra once danced with flowers in her hair. She wouldn't speak, but tears carved silent rivers down her cheeks—every night, without fail. Her parents tried to reach her, but her walls had grown thick, and her voice thinner.
The girl who once believed she'd protect her sister forever…
Now couldn't even say her name.
---
Then slowly, something changed.
It wasn't sudden. There was no revelation, no guiding light. Just a moment—quiet and cold—when Alice realized silence was eating her from the inside. And if she stayed quiet, she might disappear entirely.
So she spoke. But not with truth.
She laughed too loud.
She made jokes at the wrong time.
She teased, she poked, she played the fool.
Every time someone asked, "Are you okay?", she'd grin and say
"Pfft, me? I'm always okay. Look at this face—has 'emotional baggage' ever looked this good?"
She joked not because it was funny, but because silence reminded her of death.
---
Alice became the girl who always smiled, always joked, always had a comeback. But inside, in a quiet little room locked away in her heart, sat a younger version of herself—holding a flower crown and whispering a name over and over again.
Lyra.
She never spoke about her again. Not really.
But on some nights—when the moonlight fell just right—she would still sit by the window, place a flower behind her ear, and whisper:
"I'm trying, sis. I don't know if it's enough… but I'm trying."
And the wind, gentle and warm, would brush past her hair, as if it understood.
AT PRESENT THE FOREST PATH
Alice's fingers brushed against the delicate flowers she held, her eyes distant for a moment.
"Yes," she said softly, then smiled faintly. "I had a sister. Her name was Lyra... the purest soul I've ever known."
Dante glanced at her, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "What happened to her?"
Alice let out a light, almost nervous laugh, shaking her head. "Ah, that's a story for another time. Trust me, it's way too boring—and tragic—for now." She winked, quickly changing the subject. "So, enough about me. What about you?"
Dante smiled softly, shaking his head.
"What about me? I've got nothing interesting. Just a boring guy with a friend—Elias. But now... I've got all of you. Even Logan's starting to seem like a good person."
Alice's eyes met his, a small, genuine smile playing on her lips.
"Well, maybe boring is just what I needed. Someone steady to remind me there's still something worth fighting for."
She paused, then added softly,
"And maybe... someone worth trusting."
Dante's gaze didn't waver.
"Trust isn't easy, but maybe that's what makes it real."
Alice swallowed hard, feeling a warmth she hadn't expected.
"You make it sound simple."
He smiled, a little teasing.
"Maybe I'm trying to make it simple. Because sometimes… the hardest battles aren't fought with magic or fists—they're fought with hearts."
Alice's breath hitched slightly.
"And what if my heart's been broken too many times already?"
Dante stepped a little closer, lowering his voice.
"Then I'll be here to help you put it back together—piece by piece."
For a long moment, silence wrapped around them. Then Alice finally let out a soft laugh,
"Maybe you're not so boring after all."
Alice smiled softly, still looking at the flower in her hand—its delicate petals trembling slightly in the breeze.
Without saying a word, Dante reached out gently, brushing a strand of her hair aside.
"May I?" he asked quietly.
She blinked, surprised, but nodded.
He took the flower from her hand and tucked it behind her ear, his fingers lingering just a second longer than needed.
"You make this flower look more beautiful," he said, voice low and sincere.
Alice turned away slightly, hiding the sudden warmth on her cheeks.
"You're such a flirt," she murmured, but there was no bite in her voice—only softness.
Dante chuckled.
"Maybe. Or maybe I just say what I see."
For a moment, the forest fell quiet, the world fading away around them. And in that small, fleeting stillness.
END OF CHAPTER 14